


And He Will Look After You

by TheRothwoman



Series: Characters as Coping Mechanisms [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRothwoman/pseuds/TheRothwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You need to go home, but there's something about train stations...</p><p>(For anyone else who's needed a Bucky Barnes to hug them and tell them it's going to be okay.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And He Will Look After You

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a commenter on my last fic, And He Will Take Care Of You. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON THIS ONE. The suicidal ideation scene is relatively brief, but it was taken from my own experiences, including the running from the station in panic. I deliberately didn't go into too much detail on that part because I know how triggering that can be. Still, rest assured that things work out fine.

You’ve heard they’re called “intrusive thoughts.” A few seconds of holding a baby and thinking “what if I dropped it,” of looking at a prized possession and thinking “what if I destroyed it,” of seeing oncoming traffic and thinking “what if I ran out in front of that car.”

Tonight it’s “what if I stepped off the platform and got hit by that train?”

Intrusive thoughts, or so you’ve heard, are not meant to be indicative of a larger problem. They happen for a few moments, then they’re gone. The fact that you’ve been having this particular thought almost as long as you’ve been waiting on the platform is a bit disconcerting to you. Reason tells you that it’s wrong, or that it’s just nothing. But something dark within you tells you it’s tempting.

“You really shouldn’t do it.”

He’s there again, with a hand on your shoulder. Not the metal hand, that would be too harsh. You look up at him as he strokes your shoulderblade with his thumb, and he looks back at you with those sad eyes. They’re not scared, and something in that tells you that he knows you have the strength not to do anything rash.

“There would be train delays, a handful of witnesses…people who couldn’t unsee it. More importantly, you have family. You have friends. I know it might not always seem like it, but you do. What would they think if you were gone?”

He’s right, and you try more actively to banish the thoughts from your mind. There’s a light in the tunnel. The train’s coming. You feel his grip on your shoulder tighten and you reach up to place your hand over it, using him as an anchor. There goes the front of the train. It’s slowing to a halt. You’ll continue living.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

It’s late and the train is sparsely populated. You take a window seat and he sits next to you, hand still on your shoulder. You lean your head into the crook of his neck and he rests his head on yours, rubbing a comforting hand up and down your arm. As the train rattles along, you find yourself thinking back to what you almost did. A terror starts rising in your chest. Oh god…oh god, how close were you? Would you have actually done it if you hadn’t stopped to think? If he hadn’t been there to reinforce your positive thoughts? You find yourself with a frantic need to run, to get away from the trains. The train you’re on reaches your stop, and you quickly apologize and bolt.

“Hey, wait!” you hear him cry after you. The chase doesn’t bother you, you’re not running away from him. You hope he does follow you, to make sure you’re okay. You’re not okay, of course. It’s been a while since you’ve been to the gym, so you only make it a couple blocks before you come to a stop. It’s chilly out tonight, so catching your breath stings your throat a bit. Your breathing comes in hard ragged sobs as he catches up to you, facing you but not touching you. He holds his hands out between you, ready to put a comforting grip on your shoulders but waiting until you’re slightly less panicked.

“Hey hey hey, listen, it’s okay, we’re almost home,” he says in an attempt to calm you. “What happened?” You start blubbering about how you could’ve jumped, how you _can’t be_ suicidal because you _know_ you still have so much life left to live and there are _so_ many things you haven’t done yet.

“Oh no…here, may I?” He reaches out his hands to you and you take a couple steps forward, welcoming the warmth as he envelopes you in his arms, holding you tight and stroking your back. “Listen, you’re still here, you didn’t jump, and you’re not going to jump. Because you’re right, there’s still so much out there for you to see and do. And I want more than anything for you to be here to see and do them,” he half-murmurs in a soothing tone. “Let’s go home, okay? It’s almost midnight, you’ve had a long day.”

He holds your hand the rest of the way back and gets the door for you. While you start taking your jacket and shoes off, he goes to the kitchen to get you something warm to drink (“There’s hot cocoa and tea, or I could heat up some cider for you”). You ask if he can bring it up to the bedroom, since you’re going to get changed for bed. “Sure thing,” he says. There’s a pair of pajamas you don’t always wear. You’re not much of a pajama person, but tonight seems to call for it. After you’ve finished getting dressed, he knocks at the door. He’s got two mugs delicately stacked on top of each other, saying the top one is yours. You take it and the two of you sit on the edge of the bed, sipping your drinks and making idle chatter. Eventually he says, “Promise me this: you’ll call someone tomorrow? I do what I can, but I’m no mental health professional.” You nod and he smiles. “Good.”

You yawn after finishing your drink, setting the mug down and saying you’re ready to go to sleep. You lie down and pat the bed next to you, inviting him to join you. God knows you don’t want to sleep alone tonight. He finishes his mug and stands up briefly to take his shirt and pants off, turning out the light and climbing into bed next to you. You scoot up against his chest and he drapes his metal arm in a blanket for cushioning before taking you in his arms. Between the pajamas and the blankets and the bed and his body, everything is soft. Calming. He pets your hair and kisses you on the head occasionally, whispering gentle reassurances to you. Tells you that he loves you, that you’re going to be okay, that you can make it through this. He even sings a few bars of some old song, reminding you that he’ll be there as long as you need him.

And he will look after you.


End file.
